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“Down the hall.”
“Thanks!” I call out as I rush in the direction he indicated.
Thankfully, no one is in the bathroom. I lock the door, shutting out the music and the living room chatter. This isn’t the ideal place to do this, but I didn’t want to do it at home.
I could go to Hunter’s.
He’s not home from Vegas yet. And there’s the nagging thought that while I’ve missed him all week, I have no idea how he’s feeling about us. He said there was more between us on Sunday, but maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe, for him, the week was clarity that he doesn’t want to deal with the emotional rollercoaster that is me trying to figure out what I want. That it would be easier to walk away.
And even if he still wants me, would he want ababy?
We talked about his changing thoughts on relationships and having a family, but that doesn’t mean he wants that withme.
Enough thinking about it. I rip open the box and pull out the tests. There are two tests. One isn’t enough? I need to test multiple times?
I read the instructions, uncap the test, and aim to pee on the end. I’ve rarely had the need to produce urine on demand. I’ve been drinking water lately like it’s my full-time job, yet the pee barely trickles out. It’s nervous. Afraid of what its presence will determine.
I cap the test, flush and wash my hands. The instructions say to wait three minutes before reading the results. That’s the moment I realize, I need more time than that. The response on this stick could be life-changing. I need more than three minutes to come to terms with what it might tell me. I toss the stick in the bag and rush out the door. Just as I’m rounding the corner, Johnathan appears with a glass of water.
“Here—”
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. By—” I’m out the door and jogging down the stairs. I don’t know why I’m moving so quickly. Sprinting out of Johnathan’s apartment like I’m carrying a lit stick of dynamite. And I know that delaying looking at the test doesn’t change the results, but I need a moment to catch my breath. From the sprinting and from the thoughts that are going wild in my head.
I skitter out onto the sidewalk, then take a right to start moving toward the subway.
Everyone on the street suddenly has a baby. There’s a couple walking with ice cream cones in their hands, a baby in a carrier strapped to the man’s chest. A couple pushing a stroller with their leashed dog in tow.Shouldn’t these babies be in bed?Okay, it’s only eight o’clock.When does a baby go to sleep anyway?
That’s only one of the million questions circling around in my head.
I might be pregnant. There could be a baby growing inside me. Hunter’s baby.
This is so much more complicated than realizing Imissedhim this week. That Ilikehim. Okay, more than like him.
This is huge. A lifetime commitment. At least eighteen years of co-parenting ahead of us.
Guilt washes over me. Everything that Griffin has done for me, everything he’s wanted for me, for us—a better life, a different life than what we had growing up. I’m trying to be more independent, and now, I’m going to need even more help.
If I’m pregnant.
I scan my transit card and move toward the platform. When the train arrives, I find an empty seat near the door.
What about my job? My career aspirations? I’m trying to figure that out, and now, I might have to add the title of Mom into the mix. That throws a wrench in my five-year plan. No, not a wrench. It’s more like sending the five-year plan through the paper shredder.
At Twenty-Third Street, I exit the train and climb the stairs, then I walk the three blocks to the apartment. I take the elevator up and let myself in. While I was out, Griffin arrived home and is now snuggling with Emma on the couch.
“Hey, Soph.” Griffin nods.
“You’re back.”
“I got in an hour ago. I must have just missed you.”
“How was Vegas?” I ask, my brain not even focused on his answer.
“It was good. We got a lot accomplished with the project. Hunter was pleased.”
At the mention of Hunter, my attention draws back to my CVS bag and its contents.
